


An Ever-fixed Mark

by thepottermalfoyproblem



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepottermalfoyproblem/pseuds/thepottermalfoyproblem
Summary: McSpirkHolidayFest 2016 - HalloweenPrompt: Something during the ship-wide Halloween party triggers flashbacks to Tarsus for Jim. Spock and Bones take care of him afterward.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Shakespere's Sonnet 116. Though popular and somewhat overused, I felt that the overarching theme of the poem fit this story as a whole. Also I am somewhat gleeful about the use of Shakespere in a fic that includes references to Kodos the Executioner. 
> 
> AN: I own nothing. Also there's a description of a fairly severe panic attack, so if that's a problem, please do not read this.

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_  
 _Admit impediments. Love is not love_  
 _Which alters when it alteration finds,_  
 _Or bends with the remover to remove:_  
 _O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,_  
 _That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_  
 _It is the star to every wandering bark,_  
 _Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._  
 _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_  
 _Within his bending sickle's compass come;_  
 _Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_  
 _But bears it out even to the edge of doom._  
    _If this be error and upon me proved,_  
    _I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

_-Shakespere, Sonnet 116_

_\-----_

James T. Kirk, fearless leader of the Enterprise and brave defender of unfortunate souls everywhere, is jumpy. Bones can feel the nervous tension rolling off the captain in waves, and he’s no psychic. He glances over Jim’s head at their Vulcan companion, who meets the doctor’s eyes and compresses his lips into a thin, worried line.

Ordinarily, Jim would make himself scarce during Halloween celebrations, but the past few weeks had been rough for the crew. “A crew needs its captain,” Jim had said. “If I can’t make it through one party, what kind of captain am I?”

Bones and Spock had looked at one another, eyebrows raised in mirror of each other.

“There is a seventy-eight point eight percent chance you will experience mental discomfort upon entering the celebration, with that percentage increasing by five every quarter hour,” said Spock. “If you must insist on attending, I recommend you only stay for a half hour.”

Jim had laughed off their concern, but his eyes lacked their usual twinkle.

Now they stand by the refreshment table in the officer’s rec room, Bones and Spock flanking Jim as he near vibrates with the effort not to bolt for the door. Across the room someone had set up a dance floor and one of the ensigns mans a DJ booth, minor keyed music floating through the air.

Jim shivers and blindly clutches at Bones’s hand. The doctor winces at the too-tight grip, but gently squeezes back.

“Come on, Jim. I think that’s enough self-flagellation for the day. Let’s get you back to your room and we can watch a movie or…” he abruptly cuts off as Jim stiffens beside him, color draining from his face. “Shit,” mutters Bones under his breath.

“Indeed,” says Spock, his nostrils flaring slightly in a Vulcan version of a tired sigh.

That’s all the time they have before Jim lets out a quiet whimper and claps his hands over his ears. He’s out the door before Bones even blinks, so he looks at Spock instead. Spock nods grimly and is out the door hot on the heels of their fleeing companion.

Bones takes a second to drain his glass, setting it firmly on the table behind him before making his way over to the DJ. The ensign looks a little terrified as the doctor bears down on him. The music keeps playing in the background, more upbeat than the previous selection, but Bones tunes it out.

“Look, kid, it’s not your fault, you didn’t know. I’m aware it’s a classic but next time you get struck by the urge to play The Talking Head’s Psycho Killer around the captain… don’t.”

The ensign stammers out an apology and a quiet “yes, sir” and Bones nods at the kid before heading out the door.

\-----

He makes it to the captain’s quarters in record time, his face set in a stern and worried mask that sends everyone in his path running the opposite direction. When he enters, Spock is sitting on the foot of the bunk, rubbing soothing circles onto Jim’s back. Jim is hunched inward on himself, breathing hard and ragged like he is about to be sick or pass out.

“I had to pull him out from under his desk,” says Spock quietly. Under his hand, Jim shudders and leans closer. “I suppose you spoke to the ensign?”

Bones nods. “Poor kid is terrified of me now, but shouldn’t cause any more trouble.” He sighs and drops onto his knees in front of Jim, clasping one shaking hand between both of his own. “You’re safe, Jim. It’s just Spock and me now. Do you wanna talk through it or go to bed?”

Jim swallows thickly, breathing finally evening out into deep but steady gasps. He meets Bones’s eyes and the doctor watches with relief as Jim’s gaze goes from clouded to clear. “It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, Bones. The order went out on Halloween like some horrible ghost story, and the only thing that kept me going was that awful song. And I still blank out and look like a fool apparently.” He swipes angrily at his eyes with his free hand. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”

“Ashayam, there is nothing to be ashamed of.” Spock’s voice is gentle. “Our mission last week brought old traumas to the surface of your mind. It is only logical that they would eventually spill over in some manner. I am glad that Leonard and I are here and can assist. That is far preferable to you managing alone.”

Jim huffs a humorous laugh and draws in on himself again, arms reaching around his knees. “Twenty years later, the bastard is dead and he still gets to me.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Bones hauls himself off the floor with a grunt. “Let’s get you into bed properly so you can get some sleep.”

It’s a testament to Jim’s state that he doesn’t even offer token protests as Bones strips him down to his boxers and tucks him into the middle of the bunk. He does giggle a bit as Spock and Bones change into their respective pajamas.

“Shut it, Iowa boy,” grumbles Bones good-naturedly. “Some of us were born in much warmer climates and need the extra warmth to sleep in this ice-cube.”

Spock hums agreement, looking soft and sleepy in the flannels sent by Grandmother McCoy. He crawls into bed next to Jim, pausing a moment before holding out two fingers. Jim settles back against the Vulcan with a sigh, brushing his fingertips to Spock’s.

Bones stands beside the bunk for a moment, smiling down at his sleepy husbands. Jim’s eyes are already fluttering shut, exhausted from the evening’s emotions. Spock gazes steadily at him, an eyebrow raised and his other hand held out. With a soft laugh, Bones joins them in their bunk, brushing hands with both of them once he’s settled in.

He almost misses the soft “thank you” whispered into the dark as they all drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, a confession. I've experienced the same type of panic attack described in this fiction. My triggers are audial, which is why I made music the eventual trigger for Kirk's attack. Turning pasty pale and non-verbal and freezing is never fun and I hope I never have another one in my life, but I probably will. I'm just glad I was able to write it out in a fic.
> 
> Other than that... if you want to hear the song mentioned in the fic, [here it is.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O52jAYa4Pm8) The lyrics are also [worth a read ](http://www.metrolyrics.com/psycho-killer-lyrics-talking-heads.html) because hot damn, that's the Tarsus Executions in a nutshell.


End file.
